Not An Easy Task
by Ms.AuroraSkies
Summary: The story of how the wife of Sherlock Holmes discovered her feelings towards the highly functional sociopath through heartwarming and traumatic experiences. One Shot. Sherlock OC. Warning: Rated M for a good reason.


**The only thing that I owe are the characters that you don't recognize.**

* * *

People always asked me how it is like. How can I withstand the deduction of my whole being by a person that is egotistical and condescending in the most absurd way? My simple response is that it is no walk in the park. It's not easy to be cautious of opening kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator to see body parts in multiple conditions; all for the name of science and logic. It's not easy to nag and beg for the nutriment of another individual's body and it sure as hell isn't a walk in the park to get your point across on how it is necessary. It is not easy to hide your thoughts, possessions, and feelings when you are married to Sherlock Holmes.

Being married to Sherlock requires a certain level of intellect and a narcissistic mind set. One must hold herself in a pedestal so high, that looking anywhere else but up will most certainly cause one to fall. The wife of a Holmes must be independent, witty, and just as brilliant as a Holmes should be. Mrs. Holmes must be able to handle herself during cases with an elegant posture with a romantic aura that surrounds her adventurous statue.

I'm neither of those things.

I have absolute no brain cells, not even one, that can be considered at a genius level. I lack the ability to be narcissist mainly because I would end up apologizing like the apocalypse was going to occur if I didn't. Sherlock always rolled his eyes whenever I mention the "end of the world," claiming it was nothing more than feeble minds of ordinary people that have nothing better to do then to go prance around instead of picking up a book and actually educate themselves out of this nonsense notion. If I were to picture myself in a pedestal, I would likely get sick from looking down since heights and I do not go hand in hand. I would like to consider myself independent but I am aware that I enjoy to be surrounded by people and constantly look for guidance from Mrs. Hudson and John. I guess the only thing that I do have is how witty I am, in a sarcastic sense. Okay, maybe I'm just a sarcastic bimbo.

And yet here I am. My name is Lara Steeling Holmes, wife to Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

We met during my first year in University of Cambridge. I have decided to study to get a degree in history with a minor in art. I always dreamed of working in one of England's amazing museums ever since I was a child. Now, Sherlock was a lot different back in the good old days. More lively and willing to converse with other people…sort of. I remember that I finally had about 20 minutes to myself before my next class and I was looking forward to some quality time with my turkey sandwich and hot chocolate milk in a thermo. I sat down on a bench that over looked the science building and was under a hazel tree. It was the middle of October and the cooled breeze kissed my cheeks bitterly. I didn't mind though. I always loved the cold. I tucked my legs under me, like I always do and took out my small meal from my book bag. This was my me time. There were a couple of students that were sitting by trees socializing while there where an even few amount walking in and out of the science building. I took a long, anticipating sip from my thermo, taking care as to not to burn myself. I set the down the thermo after twisting the lid on before I began to unwrapped my sandwich. There were a couple of students that were closest to me that began to raise their voices. Before I could even comprehend what the commotion was all about, a single loud yell from a pretty blonde woman wearing a baby pink coat and black knee boots was heard before an even louder sound of a slap follow suit. As I looked after the woman storming away, my eyes caught hold of a curly dark brown hair individual that had a long slender hand upon his right cheek. Now normally I would laugh at the whole situation but there were two factors that prevented me from doing so. The first factor was that while my eyes traveled to the annoyed facial expression of the guy, I had taken a bite of my lunch and laughter and food do not mix when I'm involved. The second factor, and the main reason, is the fact that after he had gotten slapped, he made a b-line towards the bench that I was on and sat down a little too close for comfort. I actually had to move my thermo so as not to sit on. Now that I think of it, he might have of just sat on my stuff and wouldn't care what so ever.

He didn't look at me at first until I awkwardly cleared my throat. "Um, are you alright? Seemed like it hurt." He just looked at me, with his hand on his cheek. He had a boring expression and I have to admit that I was taken back. Not so much of the fact that _clearly _I annoyed him back then, but just the fact that his eyes captivated me. Green has always been my favorite color. "Please. Regardless of the fact that she attends Pilates and dance sections five times a week, she does not possess the muscle capacity of doing any physical trauma."

"Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure that she'll forgive you for whatever you did."

"Now why on Earth do I ever need a person's forgiveness? It is useless." I remember being shocked at his response and I decided to just follow my initial instinct and just keep my mouth shut. He wasn't having it. "Ah. I see. You assumed that she was an acquaintance of mine. More so, that she and I were in an intimate relationship. Don't be ridiculous. I was merely informing her that she should make the choice between staying with her husband and her lover, who _clearly_ infected her with genital herpes, instead of gorging herself with his gifts and neglecting her six month old child who is obviously the child of said lover."

"How do you know all of this if you claim that you don't know her?"

"The ring finger on her left hand has a slight discoloration. Indication of a wedding finger that she removes before attending classes. The only purpose for this is that she is either she recently went through a divorce, which is highly unlikely considering the fact that she is rather well dressed for someone who would have spent thousands of pounds on legal documents, or that she has a lover who attends this university. Indications of tiny scratch marks on her neck are too rigid to be a caused by any possible pets. This leaves only the possibility of a child between the ages of 5 to 7 months and by the discoloration from her finger, I say she was only married for four months trying to cover her tracks on multiple side boyfriends from her then fiancé-now husband. As for the genital herpes, the smoothness of her fingertips indicates that she uses lotion, but there are patches of dry skin on her palms, wrists…which rules out the ordinary body lotion. Who would apply lotion onto their selves but not on the rest of their bodies? Someone with some sort of sexual transmitted disease and herpes is the most common here in Cambridge."

That was the first time he has left me speechless. I never witnessed a human being with the ability of reading people just by looking at them. It was…"Extraordinary!" He looked at me with a surprised expression and I couldn't help my already wide grin to become even wider. "You find that…extraordinary?"

"Of course! Who wouldn't?"

He had this weird look that I only ever saw about three times during the whole duration of us knowing each other. I couldn't really put my finger on it. Not until many years have passed.

"Do me!" He turned his body towards me and leaned a bit forward quite hesitantly. I had to admit that it was a bit uncomfortable to have a stranger invading your personal bubble, but then again, I kind of invited him to.

"…You are a freshman. You reside in a one bedroom, one bathroom flat about three blocks away from the university. Judging from the white hairs on your coat, I say you have a three year old cat that always ends up sleeping next to you. You danced when you were a teenager. The muscles on your thighs are indications of that. The dark pencil marks on the side of your palms are due to the fact that you have recently drawn something. Could possibly do it during your spare time or during your previous class that you find utterly boring, rightly so. Seeing as you do not portray dark circles underneath your eyes, I say you are not a science or physics major. That only leaves women's education, literature and mathematics…all of which doesn't seem to fit since your book bag is too small for the massive textbook they require. Your book bag can only contain the smaller, cheaper text book that are designed for the minority majors-"

"That is correct. I am working for a history major with a minor in arts. That was just sheer brilliance! I'm Lara Steeling." I extended left hand with my grin still intact. He looked at it before his eyes met my amber one and wrapped his large slender hand around my smaller one. "Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." We shook our hands once before retracting them back to their rightful place. "Very nice to meet you, Sherlock. You are quite the genius! So do you always deduce your fellow peers in your spare time?" Sherlock huffed as he crossed his arms and faced forward "Hardly. I also deduce professors and faculty members." I laughed heartily as he responded with a smirk, green eyes watching me as my laughter cooled down.

That was how it all started. As simple as that, Sherlock and I somehow had a silent agreedment to meet up every day to that specific bench and spend our lunch time together. Most of the time, Sherlock would deduce people that I pointed out and try to impress me with as much information he can find out about his 'victims'. There were times where he would try to teach me but that quickly went up in smoke when I clearly didn't possess any form of observation skills. There were times where Sherlock would always manage to ignore the cravings that his body yells for and so I would always remembered to bring extra food for him. We would roam the halls of the university and I would somehow prevent Sherlock from getting into _too _much trouble with his professors. It wasn't long before I met Mycroft and wormed myself into his heart just by the mere fact that I was helping him look after his baby brother. Sherlock would always perform his childish antics whenever I ended up siding with his brother on how he should be more careful. He would always claim that I might as well marry Mycroft since I was just as annoying and unbearable as his brother. When I would talk back to him, he would always have a response to make me feel insubordinate compared to him, and yet I would never back down from calling him an arse. It was funny if you think about it. As much as his arrogance and quite extraordinary rude comments towards people and sometimes even to me, there was a certain charm to him that was magnetizing to me.

The exact moment where I noticed that I had feelings for Sherlock had to be during our final year of university. We were at our usual spot and having the usual argument that involved me shoving food to his mouth because he had once again refuse to listen to his body's cravings. "I am not a child for you to feed. If you want a child so badly, just ask Mycroft. I am positive he would end up taking your offer to bear his disgusting semen." I backed away with a disgusted facial expression as I punched Sherlock's arm. He placed his other hand on top of the location of where I punched him and looked at me with a shock expression, like he has no idea what he has done. "Don't you be disgusting, you arse! How many times do I have to tell you to just eat a bloody meal once in a while?" "There are more important things to do to than to lose control of one's body." Sherlock waved a hand as if that would dismiss the argument altogether. Glaring at him, I placed the sandwich back into its plastic bag and shoved it into my book bag, placing it on top of my legs that were in a lotus position. "You are such an arse, Sherlock." Just like him, I crossed my arms and turned away from him, pouting. I remember being hurt at the fact that he would propose such a thing with Mycroft. I really didn't know why that statement bothered me until I felt my book bag being removed and a heavier pressure take its place on my lap. My ears started to burn as I looked at him. Sherlock, with his eyes still closed, sighed as he wiggled around to get in a more comfortable position.

"G-get off Sherlock!"

"Now why would I do such a thing? You are always pestering me to get some rest instead of conducting necessary experiments and the one time that I'm actually taking your _pointless _advice, you are yelling at me to do the opposite. Really, Lara, make up your mind." With fingertips together, he place his hands onto his lips and took a deep breath; completely content. I was getting flustered and can already feel the burning from my ears reaching towards the center of my cheeks. Not once, has Sherlock done anything that could be mistaken as an intimate moment. Sure he would grab my hand to drag me into one of his shenanigans or to escape from a rather pissed off professor; but nothing like this. This was just a new experience for me. I didn't know what to do. Do I push him off? Leave him be? Make some sarcastic remark on how he is coping ordinary actions just like any other ordinary person would? Instead, I just dig one hand into his soft dark curls and began to scratch his scalp lightly, causing a soft groan deep in Sherlock's throat. I can remember that I was just thanking God with all of my heart that he kept his eyes closed and didn't see how my face resembled a stupid red light. "People are going to start thinking we are a couple if you don't get off of my lap, Sherlock." With a click of a tongue, Sherlock let both of his palms fall on to his chest, obviously stating that he was very comfortable. "Let them. I couldn't care less. They don't mean anything to me." So we stayed in that position; Sherlock sleeping on my lap as I continued to caress his scalp. Ever since that day, he would just casually place his head on my lap whenever he got the chance to regardless of where we were at. There were times when I would join him in one of the class laboratories that he would casually grab my hand and place it on top of his head, an indication of his desire for a mini scalp message while he would continue to look through a microscope. We would fall into this silence that didn't feel like we had to fill it up with pointless conversations. It was just so peaceful. It was during those times that all these thoughts appeared into my head. I took note how many times my heart rate will accelerate whenever I was around him. How I fell into a comfortable place when Sherlock was next to me was something that I have never experienced. The way that he would keep me guessing on what was going on in that mind of his was so enticing. Like a puzzle that I desperately wanted to figure out. That I _needed_ to find out…I guess that was when I know that I fancied young Sherlock Holmes. How I actually knew that I was in love with him is a different story. A story that isn't as sweet or heartwarming.

I had this class, I don't remember what subject, that started late in the evenings and I didn't get out until around nine-thirty or so. Sherlock usually would always be outside waiting for me since he would spend almost every single day in the lab doing God knows what at ungodly hours (I never really paid attention since science isn't my forte), but earlier that same day, we got into another pointless argument that neither of us don't remember. Whenever we have those petty arguments, Sherlock would manage to 'punish' my stubbornness by being a huge baby and refuse to socialize with me for the rest of the day. So it came to no surprise that Sherlock wasn't waiting for me that evening. The university was almost empty with the exception of a few individuals here and there. There was a group of men that were hanging out nearby under a lit street light that were the regulars on trying to make Sherlock's life unbearable. They would always call him inappropriate names and whenever Sherlock would keep his stupid mouth shut, I had to open my big mouth to let out a variety of colorful profanity to defend him. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever became a sassy type of person until I met Sherlock…I remember there was an incident where we were eating lunch together when those three arseholes came up to us and one of them slapped the pudding that I gave to Sherlock out of his hand.

"You have to be quicker than that, freak," stated Rick, a tall dirty blonde hair athlete that can be considered to be the "boss" out of stupid arse one and stupid arse two. Sherlock just pursed his lips shut and didn't make eye contact with any. I knew that look of him trying to not look like a lost pup. You would think that grown men in university wouldn't act like total jerks. That they would just grow out of that stage, but apparently, those three missed that train. I didn't say anything. All I did was pour my hot cup of coffee on Rick and while he screamed in agony, took off my cheap easy-slip on boot and started to hit him repeatedly. I only got about two hits in before Sherlock basically picked me up by the waist and started to pull me away. Anthony and Jordon, Rick's two goons, were trying to help him up. "I'm going to get you for that, you whore!" I kept on struggling against Sherlock, obviously not slowing him down and retreating. "Well, you better be quicker than that, pencil dick!" I think that was how my sassiness was born.

Anyway back to what I was saying, I was heading towards my apartment in the middle of November. The freezing wind was biting into my cheeks causing me to tighten my red coat around my body. As I passed by the three guys, they yelled at something that I don't even remember. Truth be told, I really don't remember much that night. All I remember is the sudden pain on the back of my head, the restraining of my arms…the tearing of clothing…After what felt like an eternity, I was left there in the snow; bloody and bruised. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I didn't even feel the ice biting into the exposed parts of my body. All I felt was pain and it wasn't long before I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I found myself on a bed with beeping in the background. I guess something must have triggered an alarm or whatever because it wasn't long before a nurse and a cop entered the room. Apparently, some pedestrian found me in an alleyway not even a block away from my university. Both of them started asking me questions left to right. Asking me if I remembered what happened, was I alone, do I still feel pain, and did I know the rapist or rapists. Things like that. The problem was that I couldn't speak. I couldn't even comprehend what was going on. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep to escape from the unbearable pain, the shame, the guilt…all I wanted was Sherlock…But he never came. Not even after a week did Sherlock show up to see if I was okay. The only visitor I ever gotten while I was there was Mycroft, who visited me almost every other day to check up on me. He talked to the officers, as he was making quite a name for himself back then, that his brother and I were usually pestered by those…those…fuck heads. Mycroft gave the officers their names and after a few hours, notified me that they weren't in their apartments or have attended their jobs since the incident. During the whole time, I refused to speak. I just couldn't. I was still in shock and I just…I just couldn't. They defiled my body and left me to die. Rick, Anthony and Jordon took turns in destroying my body. I had a black eye along with some bruising on my thighs, neck, and breasts; my left wrist was placed in a cast due to a fracture that was caused by my struggling. I had several rips and tears in my vaginal lining that had caused a lot of bleeding and had to be carefully monitored for the next three weeks. I really wished that I was dead. Mycroft, as Sherlock's replacement it seemed, would just place his hand on top of my unbroken one. He wouldn't force me to talk but would try to encourage me to eat, which was always a failer. I was basically an empty and broken doll…and Sherlock was not there to help me.

Two days before my discharge date, Mycroft was sitting in the visitor's seat reading a couple of documents of God knows what while I was watching the news with a blank expression. This became our daily routine while I was staying in the hospital; but on that specific day, something began to stir. _"Now for the news; today at 2:39 pm, three male students from the University of Cambridge that are suspected to be connected on several sexual assaults accounts have been reprimanded. Police got an anonymous tip of the location where these students were hiding out. When police force arrived at the scene, all three adults were found unconscious and tied up by a Cambridge citizen that goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes-" _I could have sworn that my jaw was about to fall off its hinges. I looked at Mycroft for some sort of explanation but he just watched me with an emotionless expression. As if on cue, the door to my room opened to present the one and only Sherlock. He always did love to make entrance.

Sherlock just stood there looking at me and I back at him. I could see the faint purple color on his left cheekbone as well as a busted lip and a laceration on his right eyebrow. Mycroft got up from his chair, tucking the folders he was reading under his before he came over to me to kiss the top of my head and walked out of room without so much of a word. Never once breaking eye contact and with the sounds of the news serving as background noise, I spoke for the first time in weeks. "She-Sherlock…I..." He took two long strides towards me and sat on the bed with almost the same proximity as he did the first time we met. I felt the long withheld tears quickly blocking my vision as I reached my good hand to gently touch Sherlock's bruised cheek. All those feelings of resentment I had towards him quickly vanished with the realization of that he didn't check up on me because he didn't care, but because he was busy trying to get justice for all those girls that were assaulted…including me. He cared about me to the point of getting himself hurt and that thought alone provoked my tears were released along with all the emotions I bottled up. The rape, the pain, the humiliation, the horrible thoughts about Sherlock all came rushing out in a weak hoarse. I felt so guilty at the fact that I had started to blame him for not being there that evening to walk me home. I think part of me feels like he still feels partly responsible for it, which is ridiculous. I felt a warm hand being awkwardly place where my healing eye was, wiping away the falling tears with his thumb. Sherlock was never to show any signs of intimacy or any signs that were indications that you were worth some value to him, and so when that small gesture was initiated by him, all on his own…words couldn't describe the feelings that were filling up my heart. "You arse…that hurts" I sniffed in between weak giggles that soon became a genuine laugh followed by the deep rumble of Sherlock's own laughter. That was when I knew that I was hopelessly, undoubtedly in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Years after we graduate and relocated to London, Mycroft somehow wiggled himself into the center of the British government and Sherlock kept on weaseling himself into cases until he got the attention of Inspector Lestrade and the rest of the police department. Sherlock later confessed to me that the whole ordeal after the whole ordeal of the rape case had passed, it gave him a sort of high and that was why he decided to "help" people with their problems. I knew that wasn't the main reason since I knew that this was just a way for him to be a show off with a justified clause. As for me, I was able to get hired as a receptionist in the British Museum. My main goal was to work as an archivist but we all have to start somewhere. I absolutely adored working there. I was able to get an apartment nearby the museum but it seemed really stupid to spend money on it since I was mostly with Sherlock in Baker Street. Sherlock always claimed that the main reason why I would always be visiting him at his home was because he kept things interesting for me. That is somewhat true. I mainly go for Mrs. Hudson's cooking. _Oh my God! Does that woman cook or what?!_ Sherlock was just a really nice perk.

When I met sweet John, it felt like I was catching up with an old friend. I immediately saw the unbreakable bond that Sherlock and John had and I was somewhat relieved that Sherlock found another person that he can confide in. Even though I wish Sherlock wasn't such a constant arse to him, I think it added to their already special bond. In fact, there was a point where I was beginning to suspect that those two had more of an intimate relationship. That was until John kissed me during the Christmas Party in 221B. It was then that I had to pull John to the side to tell him that I valued his friendship more than anything. It wasn't easy considering the fact that he was completely drunk. So instead of trying to make him understand, I let him continue to make a fool of himself with the karaoke machine that Molly brought over and have him entertain Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly. I, on the other hand, was warming up by the fire and having a mini panic attack. "It was just a kiss. Hardly something to be over excited about," Sherlock huffed as he leaned on the wall next to me with a bored expression. I just huffed back angrily as I removed my hand away from my lips to cross my arms. "I am not excited but a kiss isn't just a kiss for your information! At least, not to me"

"He obviously didn't do it on purpose."

"I know that, Sherlock but that doesn't take away the fact that he took still did it!"

"It is rather childish for someone who is turning twenty-eight next month to give something so mediocre such as a kiss, a highlight in their lives."

"Well excuse me that I would have preferred to not be kissed by someone who is completely shit face let alone have John be my first."

Sherlock chuckled darkly as he pushed himself off the wall and leaned close to my ear. My breath got caught in my throat as I immediately felt my ears on fire. "Your infatuation for all things romantic is really an unattractive trait you know." He whispered, making sure that every syllable caressed my ears in soft whispers. That comment stunged. Being called unattractive in any shape or form by a man who does not take notice of appearance in a sexual or enduring manner was just something I was waiting for that Christmas. I turned to look at him with a glare, our nose almost touching. He always manages to make fun of me and my emotions. With the blush making its debut on my cheeks and my glare still fixed on his green eyes, Sherlock casually takes hold of my wrist and got even closer, searching my eyes. My gaze faltered and I swore I broke into a sweat. The fact that his lips were just half an inch away made my heart beat faster to the point that I swore everyone could hear. Instinctively, I closed my eyes…almost able to feel his lips. "It is pointless to have feelings for me, Lara. You know this…" My eyes shot open saw the retreating form of Sherlock, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. I always knew that he knew or at least, suspected that I did. I couldn't do anything else but give him a small smile; a sad one but a smile none the less. I place my free hand on top of his, caressing ever so lightly over his knuckles. My hands have always look so extremely small and fragile compared to his. "I know, but you should know how incredibly stubborn I can be." A sudden wave of confidence passed through me that night and before I knew what was happening, I reached up, with the tips of my toes, and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Merry Christmas Sherlock" and I left to join the others in all of their glorious karaoke adventures.

After that night, things began to change. I forced myself to not always be around Sherlock as much as I used to and when I was visiting the detective and doctor, I made sure that I would always leave at a reasonable time to prevent me from spending the night at Baker Street like so many times before. I started to act a bit distant towards Sherlock whereas his attitude towards me didn't change. To be frank, I was glad for at least that small of normalcy. It didn't take long for John to notice the awkward glances and lack of arguments we would have. I think he began to worry greatly because a week before my birthday, he came to visit me to discuss about it and the timing couldn't have been better and I mean that in a sarcastic way.

"I really don't know what you are talking about, John and can you please sit down. You're pacing is starting to give me a headache." John stopped and ran a hand through his hair with a sign before taking a seat next to me. I placed my toothbrush back into my month and continued with my brushing. "All I'm saying is that you usually spend your birthday dinner with us" John pouted.

"Oh come on John, you all know how much I adore you guys but I think this is good for me. I never went on a date before and so I think this would be a really interesting adventure." Noah, the personal assistant to the museum's curator, has always been such a sweetheart to me. He would always make time to have small conversations with me whenever he would witness my sleeping form. Whenever he didn't have time, he would always drop off a cup of coffee at my desk with a random doodle on a post-it note, making me laugh. He found out that my birthday was coming up and asked me if I wouldn't mind celebrating it with him and a fancy dinner for two. I accepted, knowing that this was a chance for me to see if I can truly get over Sherlock by seeing myself with another man. A horrible thing to do to sweet Noah, I know, but I didn't realize it back then. I removed myself off the couch, making sure that my oversize shirt covered the bottom portion of my body, and walked to the kitchen sink to spit out the foamy toothpaste. "Lara, you and I both know it's about Sher-" "You know, John, you are really sucking the fun out of this." I grumbled as I washed my mouth with water to get rid of the paste on the corners of my lips. "I know this is about him, but I can't always live in his shadow. I'm tired of wasting my youth on a person who clearly doesn't have the time, nor wants to create the time, to be in a romantic relationship with another person." John released a chuckled that made me turn a glaring gaze at him. "Sherlock? Romantic? You out of everyone should know that those two words don't belong together." We both laughed, clearly seeing the oddity of it. "Alright Lara," John signed as he got up and walked towards me, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Just be safe. Call me if you need anything and don't worry, I didn't tell Sherlock." I smiled at him as I watched John walk out of my apartment and I finished getting ready by putting on a knee-length, long sleeved emerald dress with a squared neck line. I gave my long dark hair a slight curl at the ends while I applied some black pumps and very little make-up.

Noah picked me up around nine o'clock and took me to this some French place that I still cannot pronounce. It was a very romantic setting and had the typical single candle in the middle of the white clothed covered table. I never experienced such a place like that before. The conversations between Noah and I seemed effortless and was full of laughter. His childlike antics was very appealing and kept me enthralled. I found him extremely attractive with his baby blue eyes that always held a spark to them when he did a lame joke and his short blond hair that he always seems to run a hand through whenever I laughed. "I can't believe you got in trouble for something so small!" I laughed, placing my glass of red wine down, taking not that that was my second glass and I really needed to slow down. "Well, you know how tight arse they can be! You place one document in the wrong tray and all of a sudden the 'exhibit can go down in ruins.' It is simply ridic-"

"I beg your pardon, is this seat taken?" Noah and I turn to see none other than Mr. Sherlock Holmes sitting on an empty seat right next to us on the square table. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"Oh good! I would have a glass of your finest imported red wine." Sherlock told a passing waiter, completely ignoring my question. "Um, Lara, you know this guy?" Noah asked with a confused expression, looking back and forth between Sherlock and me. Before I even had allowed for words to process, Sherlock decided to do all the talking. "Sherlock Holmes: Consulting detective. You must be the famous Noah Witherton. Lara has told me about you, although nothing impressive."

"Sherlock!"

"Oh now Lara, you really shouldn't yell in such a beautiful place such as this. You will ruin good old Noah's plans into consummating your nonexistent relationship by large consumptions of alcohol and cheesy antics of jokes that you, Noah, have planned to say. How long did it take you to search your jokes on google? About an hour and a half? Was that before or after you made sure that you used that disgusting gel on your hair in order to try to impress Lara with that Brad Pitt hair flip?"

"Whoa, okay. Lara, who is this guy?"

"Sherlock Holmes. Do try to keep up Noah. Now, does Lara here know about how you wear a teeth guard to keep you from grinding your teeth? Lara absolutely hates the sound of grinding. Or how about you constantly wake up in the middle of the night to pour a glass of scotch and spend about two hours staring at it since you obviously are trying to overcome the urge of becoming an alcoholic again-"

"Sherlock that is enough!" I said forcefully as I noticed customers have begun to look at the scene Sherlock was causing. "I am not finished! How is your ex-wife doing? Is she still married to your older brother or has he found out about the affair you both are having for the past month or so?" I don't know what came over me that night. The next thing I knew, was that I slapped Sherlock for the first time. With that, I got up, grabbed my purse and put on my long beige colored coat before storming out of the restaurant. It was extremely cold in the middle of January and I wished that I had brought a thicker coat but that wasn't something that plagued my mind at that moment. You see, I wasn't upset on the fact that Noah was probably using me to over his ex-wife (I knew about her from previous conversations I had with him) since I was kind of using him to get over Sherlock. I was just so frustrated on the fact that I couldn't shake Sherlock off of my life. He became part of me and that alone was frightening. Despite the fact that Noah was charming and I was having a blast before Sherlock rudely interrupted, I kept comparing them both. I kept thinking that Noah couldn't live up to Sherlock or couldn't have me on my toes constantly like Sherlock always manages to do without trying. Noah was funny most of the time, but Sherlock made me laugh in the most unsuspected ways and that was even funnier to me. It would always seem like when I was with the sociopath, we didn't need to fill in the silence with pointless conversations. We have known each other for so long that it would just seemed weird not to be part of each other's life. I remember thinking that it really didn't matter that Sherlock didn't want anything to do with a relationship with me and might want a relationship with Irene Adler (Yeah that whole mess was happening but let us not discuss that). I just wanted to be part of his amazing life. That was the moment when I knew that I couldn't love anyone else but Sherlock, and that alone made me cry in sheer sadness and loneliness. I stood underneath a street light which added a bit of warmth as I tried to calm myself down before signaling a cab.

"You look ugly when you cry like that." Sherlock said as he seemed to appear out of nowhere and stood next to me. That scared the shit out of me. "Bloody hell Sherlock, you almost gave me a heart attack!" I placed a hand over my heart as I turned away from him to try to steady my heartbeat as well as try to block his view of my famous ugly cry face. I swear, Kim Kardashian's crying face was better looking than mine. "That is impossible. You do not have any form of heart disease in your family and you, yourself, are in perfect health."

"That is not what I mean, you arse, and you know it." I tried to wipe the away my tears but that made my eyeliner worse from the indication of some of it on my fingers. I heard Sherlock walk around to stand in front of me and placing both hand on either sides of my cheeks, forcing me to look up at his green eyes. "I…owe you an apology. I knew you would be upset but I swear to you, my intention was to never make you cry." His thumbs were slowly wiping away the oncoming tears, much like he did when he was comforting me at the hospital many years before. I quickly felt my ears burn and I kept trying to tell myself to breathe. "Why did you do it then?" I asked in a small whisper. There was that look that Sherlock got that I never understood. It was as if he was fighting an internal battle with himself. My hands somehow ended up holding on to the folding of his coat, neither pulling nor pushing Sherlock away, cheeks redder than ever. "As you may know, I don't know how to do these things. The fact that I never forgot your birthday is truly astonishing because I even forget Mycroft's every year. A-And I keep on thinking, why? Why is it that when I am clearing up my mind of useless information, any data that involves you are always locked in place? I just shrugged it off the fact that you have always followed me around for years but that idea was quickly dismissed. I found myself always trying to make sure you are always by my side because…without you there…there would not be any fun in deducing people." I chuckled at hearing his words and fewer tears kept falling but he didn't stop trying to wipe them away and I only tighten my hold on his coat. "What I am trying to say is…Miss. Steeling, is that I find you annoying, incompetent, and your stubbornness continuously pushes my tolerance limit." I glared at him and was about to call him an arse until one of his hands traveled down to my chin, his thumb directly placed underneath my bottom lip. "After that horrible Christmas party which by the way, never have John sing again or I swear I will break your karaoke machine," we both chuckled at this as the hand that was still on my cheek travelled behind my head, digging his fingers into my dark hair. My heart was beating so fast I felt that I was actually going to drop dead from a heart attack regardless of what Sherlock said. "And yet, I find myself unable to function without at least hearing you are well. When I have noticed you avoiding me any chance you got, I craved for our conversations and I actually missed your tiny unproportional self. I was thinking about this for quite a while and it is only fair that you would say yes since this whole Noah situation is bothersome and I prefer not to repeat the situation, because I will and you know this." "Sherlock, what are you-" "What I am saying is that I want to give whatever we have a chance. I am determined to make you, Lara, my wife somewhere down the future if you would have me for that long." I lost all control by that time as I pulled Sherlock down to me to smash my lips to his. He quickly recovered and pulled me closer to him, still cradling the back of my head as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. The happiness I felt was indescribable and I was sure that I was going to wake up any moment. He picked me up just slightly, so as not to strain my neck considering that I was relatively shorter. "You do know that I am not proposing to you at this very moment, correct?" Sherlock mumbled against my lips, causing a small smirk from me. "I'll take whatever I can get. Don't ruin the moment." We both chuckled as we continued to give each other awkward kisses, one after another.

The story between me and Sherlock is strange and unusual; full of conflicted situations and humbled transgressions. He is a pain in the arse and I am a sore button for his intellect, yet we mesh well. After a few years later, he did end up proposing to me but that is for another time and place. Like I said before, it is not an easy task to be with Sherlock. One is required a certain level of intellect and a narcissistic mind set. One that holds herself in a pedestal so high, that looking anywhere else but up will most certainly cause one to fall. A woman who is independent, witty, and just as brilliant as a Holmes should be and can handle herself during cases with an elegant posture with a romantic aura that surrounds her adventurous statue.

I'm neither of those things.

And yet, Sherlock, without a doubt, loves me just the way I am.

* * *

**I know that some, if not all, notice certain gaps between Lara's narrative story and there is a reason for it. Soon, I would release a series of one-shots that involve special events that have occurred in another section. I hope you all enjoyed it. I doubt I kept Sherlock in character as much as I want to but it is really tough for me to do so. Hope you all don't mind much.**

**Also, I have written the story but in Sherlock's point of view so I don't know if any of you are interested in reading it. Let me know and I will be more than happy to post it up for your enjoyment. Have a lovely day and remember that all of you are amazing.**


End file.
